HOLDING ON TO happiness felt like trying to cup water in your hands. No matter how you tried, it still trickled out. Two days passed, lovely, golden days, yet they possessed an urgency, a fear, that they hadn’t before. Laurel felt it in herself, and she also felt it in Cristiano. Time was running out.
And, even though it didn’t have to be this way, even though Laurel knew if Cristiano asked her she would stay, she would try, she would risk it all, she knew in her bones, in her very soul, that he wasn’t going to ask.
He thought about it. She saw it in his eyes—the faraway look that came over him, followed by a hardening of his features into an unwelcome resolve she wanted to scream and fight against. She wanted to rail and weep—to demand why he thought staying safe was so important, why he didn’t think risking life and love with her was worth it—but she didn’t because, when it came down to it, she was afraid too.
The possibility of a face-to-face, outright rejection from Cristiano, of pushing for answers and then getting ones she didn’t want, kept her silent. She didn’t care about her dignity or her pride, but she didn’t think her heart could take one of his crushing set-downs. Not after all they’d shared.
As for the possibility of pregnancy... With every passing day Laurel wondered and hoped, even though logic told her it was unlikely. And yet...as a nurse she knew it wasn’t out of the question that she might have fallen pregnant on that first night, no matter how she’d once scoffed at such a notion.
It still seemed crazy to hope for such a thing, yet she feared it was the only way Cristiano would commit to her. She could hardly believe she’d fallen into that age-old trap of wanting a baby to snare a man. Was she that weak? That desperate?
Twelve days after Laurel had first stumbled into Cristiano’s penthouse, she lay in his bed, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers trailing a light path down his muscled chest. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of touching him. She’d spent a good part of the last two weeks touching him, smoothing the satiny, muscled perfection of him, learning the planes and angles of his well-defined body.
And yet so much more than that too... With a pang she thought of the laughter they’d shared, the surprising conversations, the simple pleasure of being in his company. Yet the next two days pressed down on her, an unbearable weight. Was it really going to end so soon?
‘The day after tomorrow it will have been two weeks,’ she said softly, because she couldn’t not say it. Underneath her hand she felt Cristiano tense.
‘So it will.’ An answer that gave nothing away, of course. He never did, especially in moments like these. She recalled that deceptively mild tone from their first days together and feared its return.
‘Shall I take a pregnancy test, then?’ she asked.
‘That was always the plan.’ Just in case she’d needed the reminder, which she didn’t. He paused, his body still tense next to hers. ‘Do you think there’s a possibility...?’
‘I don’t know.’ But she hoped. She’d taken to wondering if the slightest queasiness, the faint cramping, meant anything. Stupid, she knew, because even if she was pregnant it was too early for noticeable symptoms. Yet, just like with her mother, with everything in her life, she hoped for the best. She wanted to believe that she and Cristiano could be together—but did it really have to take a pregnancy to make it happen? It seemed her hope didn’t stretch to Cristiano himself, to him changing and learning to love her, being willing to make that jump and take that risk.
‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ he said, his tone repressed, and Laurel feeling she had no choice, let the matter drop.
* * *
The next morning Lorenzo summoned her to his bedroom, where he was resting. He spent a good part of each day in his bedroom, making Laurel wonder if he had as much time as the doctors had said.
‘Are you feeling all right?’ Laurel asked, trying not to let anxiety creep into her voice.
‘I’m fine.’ Lorenzo smiled. ‘Just a bit tired, which is nothing unusual in my condition. But I have a favour to ask of you. Quite a large favour, as it happens.’
‘Oh?’ Laurel came to sit on the edge of his bed, taking his papery hands between hers. ‘If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.’
‘I want to see your mother.’ Lorenzo held Laurel’s gaze as she tried to hide her surprise. ‘I never stopped loving her, and with so little time left, I’d like to spend what there is of it with someone I love.’ His questioning smile wavered a little. ‘If you think she’ll have me?’
‘I...’ Laurel had no doubt her mother would jump at the chance of finding a secure position, though she hoped Elizabeth would want—and feel—more than that. Was the love still there? Laurel hoped it was for Lorenzo’s sake...as well as her mother’s. This could be a much-needed reunion and reconciliation for both of them.
‘I know you can’t really answer that question,’ Lorenzo assured her. ‘But could you talk to her? Prepare her, a little? And if you could give me her phone number, if you find she would welcome a call...’
‘Yes, of course.’ What other answer could she give? Yet with a heavy sensation in her stomach Laurel feared how Cristiano would react to her involvement in getting Elizabeth and Lorenzo back together. At best, he’d be coldly contemptuous of such doings. At the worst...completely furious.
Yet looking at Lorenzo’s tired, lined face, seeing his wan smile, Laurel knew she couldn’t refuse his request. Not for any reason at all.
She called her mother a few minutes later, sitting on a bench in the terraced garden, away from the house and anyone who could listen in.
‘Laurel.’ Her mother sounded genuinely glad to hear from her, which was unusual in itself. ‘How are you? Where are you? I’ve been so worried!’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ Laurel said, although her mother was rarely in touch with her. Still, the apology came of its own accord, as it always had.
‘Well, where have you been?’
‘With Cristiano.’
Elizabeth drew her breath in sharply. ‘Still? He usually tires of women after a week at most.’
Laurel tried to suppress the flash of annoyance and even hurt she felt at her mother’s matter-of-fact tone. ‘He’ll tire of me soon, I suppose.’ Sooner even than she’d expected, no doubt, after he found out about this phone call.
‘I’m glad to know you’re all right.’ Elizabeth sniffed. ‘I was worried, you know, although I doubt you’ll believe me. I never meant things to happen that way with Rico.’
‘I know.’
‘I thought he just wanted to flirt. I hoped that was all it was, for both of our sakes. I know I’ve been far from the world’s greatest mother, but I don’t think I’m that bad.’ She let out a wobbly laugh, and then sighed. ‘The truth is, I’m too old for him. I’m too old for most men these days. All washed up at forty-six. I’m sorry.’
‘I know.’ Laurel believed her mother, even if Cristiano would think it was foolish. Her mother never thought out her slap-dash plans, her desperate bids for the life of luxury and security she’d always craved.
‘I’m sorry,’ Elizabeth said after a moment. ‘Truly. But I will need the money from the sale of that house.’
‘I know,’ Laurel said again. She hadn’t deceived herself that her mother would suddenly have an attack of generosity and give her her half of her grandfather’s house free and clear. And she’d decided, after everything, that a house was just a house. She couldn’t afford a similar place; in fact, on her salary, she’d barely be able to afford a one-bedroom apartment in town. But after everything it didn’t seem to matter quite so much. Home wasn’t a farmhouse in Illinois any more. It was wherever Cristiano was, and that was a place she most likely wasn’t going to be able to be.
‘I’m calling for a reason, though, Mom,’ Laurel said, determined to say what she needed to. ‘Cristiano and I are staying with Lorenzo.’
Elizabeth drew her breath in again, a quick, audible hiss. ‘Oh, yes?’ she asked cautiously.
‘He’d like to speak to you, on the phone. He asked me to call you first, to see if you’d welcome a call from him.’
Elizabeth didn’t speak for a long moment, and when she did her voice was thick with unshed tears. ‘Yes,’ she said, and cleared her throat. ‘Yes, I would very much welcome a call from him.’
* * *
Fury boiled through Cristiano’s blood like black tar, rising up and choking him. He strode through the villa, glaring into empty rooms in search of the woman who had orchestrated his father’s destruction. How could she? And without consulting him!
Moments ago he’d left his father’s bedroom, stunned past all sensibility. He’d managed to moderate his tone with his father, but Cristiano didn’t think he would be able to show such self-control when it came to Laurel.
He found her in the library, a pleasant, book-lined room with views of the side garden, adorned with its orange trees and hibiscus. Laurel was curled up on the sofa, a book lying open next to her, her expression both pensive and wary. She’d been waiting for him, waiting for him to confront her, because she knew what she’d done was wrong.
Cristiano closed the door carefully behind him and stared her down. Laurel lifted her chin, meeting his narrowed gaze with something close to defiance, infuriating him all the more.
‘How could you?’ he stated quietly, not even a question. ‘How could you?’
‘I assume you’re talking about helping your father to be in touch with my mother.’
‘She is arriving here tomorrow morning.’
‘I know.’ Laurel’s chin went up another notch. ‘I helped to book the flight, a red-eye from New York.’
Cristiano shook his head, trying to keep a rein on his anger. He felt like throttling her. ‘My father is in his last months of life, and you want to bring Elizabeth Forrester back into his life?’
‘He asked.’
‘Of course he asked.’ Cristiano raked a hand through his close-cropped hair, nails grazing skin, the brief flash of pain an outlet for his frustration. ‘He’s feeling lonely and vulnerable. He is an eternal optimist when it comes to matters of the heart. And, in every single case, every romantic attachment he’s ever made has ended in disaster.’
‘What are you afraid of, Cristiano?’ Laurel asked quietly. ‘Because in this case the disaster is going to happen, no matter what. Your father is going to die. Why shouldn’t we—yes, we—help to make his last days and weeks a little bit happier?’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘And you think having Elizabeth here will achieve that aim?’
Something flickered in Laurel’s eyes but she kept his gaze. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But I hope so.’
‘Do I need to remind you that this is the woman who, only two weeks ago, as good as sold you to a very unpleasant man and did nothing while he attacked you?’
‘No,’ Laurel answered stiffly. ‘You don’t need to remind me. And it wasn’t quite like that—’
‘The woman who,’ Cristiano continued relentlessly, ‘Has been seen with several dozen Z-listers over the last decade? Who is so clearly only with a man for what he can provide for her financially?’
‘Is that what you’re worried about?’ Laurel flung back at him. ‘That my mother will take Lorenzo’s money? Your inheritance?’
‘Hardly.’ The single word was scathing. ‘I have no need of my father’s money, and he obviously won’t need it in the long term.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘No, Laurel, I’m worried about my father’s health. His mental and emotional health. How do you think he’ll feel if and when Elizabeth abandons him in his greatest moment of need? Don’t you think there is a significant chance of her coming here, taking what she can and hightailing it to heaven knows where?’
Laurel pressed her trembling lips together. ‘That’s a rather cynical view.’
‘I have reason to be cynical,’ Cristiano snapped. ‘Many reasons. I have yet to see a romantic relationship that has actually worked.’
‘Not even ours, obviously,’ Laurel returned, bitterness spiking every word. ‘Not that we have a romantic relationship. Of course I don’t dare to presume such a thing.’ She rolled her eyes, and Cristiano glared at her, his fists clenched, his chest heaving.
‘This isn’t about us.’
‘Of course it isn’t.’
‘If you’re trying to say something, why don’t you just spit it out?’
Laurel took a deep, steadying breath. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, even sad, the bitterness and anger gone. Too bad they were still out in full force in Cristiano. ‘The difference between us, Cristiano,’ she said slowly, ‘Is that I choose to hope and you choose to doubt. And that is a chasm that neither of us seem able to cross.’
‘How poetic,’ he practically sneered. ‘If I’m doubting, it’s because I have very good reason to doubt. I’ve watched your mother swan into one or another of my hotels over the last ten years, always on the arm of some man, always out for herself. That is not the kind of person I want to introduce into my father’s life at this point.’
‘Too bad you don’t have a choice,’ Laurel returned evenly. ‘He’s a grown man, and he can make his own choices. He asked me,’ she emphasised, her voice throbbing with emotion now. ‘He asked me to call her and see if she’d welcome a phone call from him. And she did. There were tears in her voice when she realised he wanted to be in touch.’
‘I’m sure there were,’ Cristiano dismissed. ‘She’s a passable actress.’
Laurel shook her head. ‘Does it make you happy?’ she asked. ‘To feel so bitter and superior all the time? Does it feel good to tear down every possibility of hope and love that you can? Because, if it doesn’t, you must be a wretched, unhappy man, and then I would feel very sorry for you.’
Cristiano felt a muscle tick in his clenched jaw. ‘The last thing I need,’ he ground out, ‘is your pity.’
‘You have it anyway,’ Laurel snapped. Tears shone in her eyes and she blinked them away fiercely. ‘Would you really deny your father a chance to be with the woman he loves?’
Yes. Everything in him shouted it. But he stayed silent, because to admit such a thing seemed both callous and cruel. Laurel took a step towards him, one slender hand outstretched.
‘What is it you’re really afraid of, Cristiano?’ she asked softly.
Afraid? He wasn’t afraid. Not for himself, anyway. For his father. This wasn’t about him, about them, even though Laurel kept trying to make it seem as if it was.
‘I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to see my father get hurt.’
‘If he’s willing to take the risk, then you should be as well.’
Cristiano just shook his head. His anger had started to dissipate, replaced by a weary acceptance. He knew Laurel was right; he couldn’t keep his father from inviting Elizabeth here, into his life, if he wanted to. He couldn’t even keep him from getting hurt. And blaming Laurel for helping a grown man make his own choice was, he knew, unfair.
So all that was left to feel was something close to despair, a deep and unwelcome understanding that Laurel was right. They were different. She held onto hope and he couldn’t find it anywhere. He didn’t even know how to try.
The last two weeks had been amazing, but they’d been just that. Weeks out of time, apart from reality. What happened if and when it turned out Laurel wasn’t pregnant? She’d go back to her life in Illinois and he’d go back to Rome.
He could ask her to stay with him as his mistress, but he knew instinctively that Laurel would reject such a possibility. Perhaps it was better to have a clean break, a swift separation. Perhaps then they could both move on as they needed to.
‘Fine,’ he said, his voice clipped. ‘She can come, and tomorrow you can take that pregnancy test. For both our sakes, I hope it’s negative.’